Lord Christ, 'Forgive
your enemies.'"

With that he left me, and I lay alone in my burning pain, wondering if
it were possible for any man to forgive so bitter a shame and wrong as
had been done to me. But quickly a sort of ecstatic awe crept over me as
the consciousness of my marvellous--my splendid good fortune took
possession of my mind. It seemed unbelievable, and yet he had said it.
My dear lady was about to become my bride! She had crossed the gulf to
me!

In the bliss of that thought, all my pain and anguish of body and mind
vanished, and the bitterness of shame, the fury of hate dissolved away.
I could not forgive my enemies, but the memory of their deeds was
blunted and smoothed over by the magic of love.

When at last Captain Powers came in with a few others to witness the
ceremony, I was able to bring myself to the point of accepting the
apology he had tendered. This was well, for otherwise it would have been
difficult to endure the service which, as captain of the ship, it was
necessary for him to render us to assure the legality of our marriage.

Soon Father Rocus led in my dear lady. She was no longer blushing, but
calm and pale. In the presence of the men who had condemned me to death
and to a disgrace worse than death, she raised her head and passed by
them with the hauteur of a queen. Yet once at my side, she knelt and
clasped my hand with a tender devotion that fetched more than one
envious sigh from the breasts of the younger officers. Never had she
seemed more lovely, more adorable, than as she waited beside me, her
dark eyes upraised and glowing with solemn ecstasy.

The sonorous voice of Father Rocus rang in my ears like the sweet
harmonies of some heavenly choir. I had insisted upon lifting myself
upon my elbow, and when the padre handed me the ring, I made shift to
slip it upon the finger of my bride. A little more, and the good padre
raised his hands above us and blessed us as man and wife.

With that the officers came forward and expressed their congratulations,
forgetting their British stiffness and reserve in their heartiness. At
such a moment I could have thanked Satan himself for a word of
good-will. Yet I was not ill-pleased when, having received my responses,
they bowed themselves out. As the last of their number closed the door
behind him, Father Rocus drew from his robe a rounded pouch of worn
leather, and held it out to me.

"What is this, padre?" I asked, taking the heavy lit